He came from the mountains to our little town And he never a word. But he played every day in a lovely way Little tunes I had never heard. When he played his flute His eyes seemed to be mirrors of times gone by. I don't know if I saw what I should not see But I looked right into his heart. looked right into his heart.
found out one evening only by chance Where he spent his lonely nights. There he slept in the church on the marble floor And his flute lay by his side. As I woke him up and said ”Won't come my house where it's nice and warm” He said ”Please let me be, for I am not free And I don't wanna break heart I don't wanna break your heart”
When early one morning I came to the place Where he used to play his flute. He was gone but a that will never die Seemed to linger on in the sky. He's an Indio boy And his folks far away they are praying Indio boy come home when you are man.
He's an Indio Boy and longs for the girl who is waiting Indio Boy come home as soon as you can..